


Surprisingly, Yours

by RiddleMeEvil



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars - Alternative Universe, Star Wars - Modern Setting, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Ahsoka is Anakin’s sister, Angst, Betrayal, Breakup, Cheating, Depressed Anakin, F/M, Healing Obi-Wan, M/M, Modern Setting, Priest Qui-Gon, Self centered Padmé, fluff in later chapters, obikin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-26 06:32:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12551296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiddleMeEvil/pseuds/RiddleMeEvil
Summary: The music plays.And plays.“No, Anakin, no, don’t look—“But Anakin has already seen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think!!!
> 
> I might continue this if enough of you like it ;)
> 
> Current title is tentative.

An organ softly plays Tchaikovsky’s Sleeping Beauty: Apotheosis.

There’s a faint smell of flowers in the air.

A quiet rustle from the pews, guests murmuring slightly to one another.

Anakin Skywalker stands at the altar, hands clasped tightly before him. He’s _beaming_ , smiling so brightly it’s almost blinding, his eyes sparkling with ecstatic joy and bliss and the adoration he feels for his bride.

His best man, Obi-Wan Kenobi, stands by his side, a soft happiness in his grey-green eyes. He’s _thrilled_ to be a part of his best friend’s joy, and it’s obvious in the set of his shoulders and the calm, gentle hand he places on Anakin’s arm.

The young groom bounces on the balls of his feet, nerves getting the better of his control, eyes watching the door at the end of the aisle expectantly.

The music plays.

And plays.

Ahsoka, his younger sister, steps from behind the door. She’s clad in a lovely, floaty blue gown, grasping a small bouquet of pale roses. She’s followed by his bride’s best friend, Sabé, and behind her is Padmé’s elder sister Sola, the matron of honor.

Little Pooja and her sister, Ryoo, trip merrily down the aisle, their ruffled dresses and curls drawing coos from the gathered family and friends.

There’s a pause.

The music plays.

Anakin’s expectant smile doesn’t falter until a moment later, a few beats after Padmé’s rehearsed entrance.

Obi-Wan frowns, staring at the unmoving doors.

The guests whisper, confused eyes darting between the eager young man at the altar and the empty aisle before him.

The priest stands behind him, Father Jinn’s usually smiling face a slightly worried mask.

The music fades, the length of time it should have taken Padmé to walk to her soon-to-be husband having expired.

Anakin’s smile fades, suddenly confused and vulnerable blue eyes meeting Obi-Wan’s. The older man nods in a silent acquiescence, gripping Anakin’s arm tightly before moving to stride down the aisle. He disappears behind the doors, which swing closed with an ominous thud.

Silence.

The guests’ whispers are getting louder, and Father Jinn comes to stand beside Anakin, a sturdy support for the young man.

Anakin wills the door to open, for Obi-Wan to come back to his side, and his beautiful bride— he _knows_ she’ll be beautiful, she’s exquisite every day of her life and her taste is _impeccable_ — to meet his eyes from the other end of the aisle.

He _wills_.

They wait.

Father Jinn’s hand rests on Anakin’s shoulder, a silent prayer on his lips.

Anakin’s ecstatic joy is fast fading to a deep, awful horror of the unknown happenings beyond the doors. His hands clench, ice in his veins.

_What is taking so long?_

A muffled shout of furious, disgusted horror from Obi-Wan has the entire church stiffening, straining their ears to hear what he’s saying.

Anakin frowns and moves quickly towards the doors, flinging them wide as he swiftly moves through them. He turns towards a side room, Obi-Wan’s horrified voice getting louder.

“— for how _long?!_ ”

His hand hovers over the knob, inexplicable dread filling his heart.

He turns it, and the door opens.

Obi-Wan stands just inside, eyes wide with shock and his face pale. His mouth is still open from his shouting, and he lurches towards Anakin.

“ _No_ , Anakin, no, don’t look—“

But Anakin has already seen.

Padmé _does_ look beautiful, _magnificent_ even, a part of his mind supplies, but the rest of him is frozen in shock.

She’s sprawled on a low table, her long skirt draped up around her hips and exposing her legs, spread wide. A hand is covering her mouth in surprise and guilt, the other in the process of pushing her skirt back down to hide her exposed sex from the unexpected intruders.

Beside her is someone Anakin vaguely remembers meeting long before he and Padmé got together— he’s pretty sure the man is an artist. His shirt is gone, hands busily tucking himself back into his pants, lipstick marks on his face and neck.

Padmé’s lipstick is smudged.

There’s a dark, mouth shaped bruise below her ear.

Obi-Wan is suddenly blocking his view, hands warm on either side of Anakin’s face. Horrified eyes meet the tortured, _knowing_ azure, and Anakin can feel his body shaking.

There’s a roaring in his ears.

Obi-Wan is saying something frantically, hands grasping desperately at Anakin—

Padmé meets his eyes over his best friend’s shoulder.

Hers are filled with guilt, but almost no regret, and she lifts her chin defiantly.

The roaring is louder, his vision tunneling...

His legs weaken underneath him, Obi-Wan’s arms catching him around the waist as he falls.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of love the first chapter got!!! Thank you all. 
> 
> And I know I’ve been truly awful with replying to your lovely comments on this and my other stories... I’m sorry. You’re all so sweet.
> 
> I hope you like this second chapter— really, I have only vague ideas as to what direction this story is going in, but I’m just writing what feels good right now.

Obi-Wan Kenobi has always been a steady rock for Anakin to lean on, their close relationship since their childhood remaining unchanging throughout the years. He’s cautious where Anakin is reckless, able to see the bigger picture when Anakin tends to focus on details, and prefers use of words and art as opposed to Anakin’s more physical pursuits. He’s the type of person that blends into the walls to observe, but once drawn out has all the charisma and intellect of a true gentleman of old, his wit and humor attracting people of all ages and types.

Anakin, his opposite, is the first thing to notice in a room, his looks and charming carelessness enticing all within earshot— or sight— to come _closer_ , be a part of the golden aura felt around him. When Anakin feels, so do all those nearby; and Anakin feels so _deeply_ that it can cut the strongest emotional armor to shreds in seconds— yet Obi-Wan, owner of the gentlest, simultaneously most fragile and strong soul Anakin has ever seen, can withstand any number of his tantrums and meltdowns without so much as a flinch.

Though their friendship was thought to be one like a wildfire— quick to flame, and quick to burn out— they’ve lasted against all odds. They know each other more than they know themselves, their flaws and strengths perfectly balancing the two out.

Today, for the first time in their long history of supposedly irreparable and hopeless situations, Obi-Wan feels dread boiling and twisting in his gut, as he gazes into Anakin’s agony-filled blue eyes. His mind can barely comprehend Padmé’s actions, her _betrayal_ — it feels like a punch to his stomach and then another to his chest, stealing the air from his lungs. Anakin, _stars_ , Anakin’s perfect happiness from the past weeks and months, his joy from this morning is _gone_ , and Obi-Wan’s heart _aches_ for him.

The young man’s weight lies heavily in his arms, and he shoots one look of _utter_ horror and loathing behind him before he bears Anakin away, as far from the little, damned room as he can. Father Jinn is standing right by the chapel doors, his face lined with understanding and pain, and he wordlessly leads Obi-Wan into the hall towards the rectory.

Obi-Wan walks almost blindly, guided by the gentle hand in his shoulder as he stares down at Anakin. The boy’s face is almost the exact color of his white dress shirt, and his eyes are screwed tightly shut— Obi-Wan can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s not unconscious, only so shocked his body has faltered, giving way in the face of the adulterous scene. The men stop before a low couch, and Obi-Wan raises wide eyes to the priest’s.

“Here, lay him here— can I get you anything?” The Father’s voice filters slowly into his ears, and the auburn-haired man does as he’s told, lowering Anakin carefully onto the settee. He can here a distant commotion outside of the room, most likely the guests coming to see what the holdup is, and Obi-Wan runs a shaking hand over his face.

“I...” Common sense kicks in. “A glass of water, if you could, Father,” He murmurs, bowing his head humbly, and the priest hurries to fetch it.

Soon the cool glass is pressed into his hand, and he’s sliding his free one under Anakin’s head. “Ani, Anakin, look at me...” He cajoles, kneeling by the young man’s side. Father Jinn hovers just behind him, a support he dearly needs at this moment.

“Anakin, take a sip, you’ll feel—“ _Better?_ Could he, really? Obi-Wan squashes the argument in his mind and focuses on coaxing Anakin’s mouth open. “ _There_ we go!” He says in relief, tone overly happy as Anakin takes a long sip of the water. Over the rim of his glass, Anakin cracks open an eye and gives Obi-Wan a _look_ , his _Obi-Wan-don’t-you-patronize-me-I’m-not-a-child_ one that’s effectively useless considering the situation and the swelling, teary redness of his eyes, but Obi-Wan takes it in stride. His own eyes roll up in a parody of an exasperated parent and he pats Anakin’s shoulder gently.

When the boy sets his glass to the side and sits up, Obi-Wan tentatively attempts to broach the subject. “How... Anakin, would you like me to have everyone leave?” He changes direction immediately after he begins, unable to bear the tremble to Anakin’s lip.

Father Jinn places a hand on the jilted groom’s shoulder, compassion gleaming in his grey eyes. “I can sit with you until Obi-Wan is done.” Anakin sucks his lip into his mouth— a childish gesture Obi-Wan hasn’t seen in _years_ — nods once, short and broken.

The man heaves himself to his feet with a sigh, hand lingering on Anakin’s neck for a half second before he strides away and the priest takes a seat beside the young man. Entering the hallway, the indistinct murmuring of the priest to soothe Anakin fades, replaced by the loud rumbles from the wedding guests, and Obi-Wan winces, wishing he could cover his ears.

He re-enters the chapel, striding a few feet down the aisle with his head bowed and hands in his pockets, and the congregation lowers to a whisper. Pausing, he turns to face them with a deep breath, resolutely avoiding eye contact, and speaks instead to the tops of their heads.

“I, um.. We have a bit of a... _situation_ , ladies and gentlemen, and...” He stops, gathering his thoughts. He’s acutely aware of the hundreds of eyes on him. “.. The wedding has been... indefinitely postponed.” His words are met by a brief wall of silence, and he braces himself against the tide of questions coming his way.

People are shouting, the Naberries demanding answers on the whereabouts of the bride, the Skywalker-Lars family worriedly asking for Anakin... A baby is crying, and Ahsoka is across from him in the aisle, a phone pressed to her ear.

Obi-Wan presses a hand to his forehead, trying to stave off the headache he can feel developing. “Please, everyone, _calm down!!_ I’ll tell you what I can—“

“Where is my daughter?!” Ruwee shouts angrily, pushing into the aisle and striding furiously towards Obi-Wan. The younger man shakes his head, mouth opening to say something, anything, but the seething parent before him grabs him by the shoulders. There’s a gasp of surprise from somewhere in the crowd.

“Why hasn’t she come _in_ yet? Has she called? _Answer me!_!” He demands, shaking Obi-Wan, whose eyes go wide.

“I— well, you _see_ , she’s... As I _said_ , there’s a _situation_ —“ He manages to get out, and he can see the Naberrie patriarch beginning to swell with indignant worry. Just as he begins to blast Obi-Wan with all the terror and nerves of the father of the bride the doors swing open, and a throat is cleared.

“The wedding is _off_.” Anakin’s voice, low and hoarse and weighted down with tears echos in the suddenly still room, and Ruwee loosens his grip on Obi-Wan. Gasps sound all around them, and footsteps come towards the pair in the aisle, Anakin’s hands gently tugging Obi-Wan from the his would-be father-in-law’s grasp.

“What do you _mean_ , ‘ _the wedding is off’?”_ The man growls, eyeing Anakin fearfully, and Shmi Skywalker-Lars moves from her pew to stand beside him.

“Ani?” She asks, and Obi-Wan can feel the shudder in his best friend’s body at his mother’s soft words. “What’s happened?”

Father Jinn speaks up from the door, and all eyes swivel back towards him. “Miss Amidala has chosen to break her promise to Anakin, and in return he has decided to call their union off.” He’s standing with a hand on a blushing Padmé’s shoulder, the other gripping another— _the_ other— young man’s arm.

Both still look disheveled and embarrassed and it send a bolt of vindictive pleasure through Obi-Wan, though it does nothing to assuage Anakin of his feelings. He _can’t_ look at them, doesn’t even try, and Obi-Wan’s arm comes around his waist. Ruwee is gaping in shock at the mismatched trio in the doorway, the entire congregation silent, their minds still wrapping around the bombshell dropped onto them, and Shmi steps towards Anakin’s side. She takes his hand in her soft, wrinkled one, hurt eyes gazing at Padmé, who averts her gaze.

“Padmé? Is this _true?_ ” Shmi asks, and Obi-Wan can hear the pain in her voice. His heart clenches— How Shmi has _longed_ for Anakin’s happiness! Especially with her devastating illness... A melodic voice with a harsh, vindictive edge pierced the still and breathless silence left after Shmi’s question.

“ _Yes_.” Padmé says, chin jutting out, and she shakes her shoulder free of Father Jinn’s grasp.

“I did. And I’m _not_ ashamed of it, Palo is a _far_ better man and lover than Anakin _ever_ will be.”


End file.
